


i've lost to dreams again, being so attached to yesterday

by SorenTeaTime



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Drabble, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 13:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorenTeaTime/pseuds/SorenTeaTime
Summary: At eighteen, he could've been a normal teenager, he could’ve only enrolled in college; at eighteen, he could’ve been skipping class, or using dumb dating apps, or having fun with his friends, or–"Excuse me, are you Saihara Shuichi?"





	i've lost to dreams again, being so attached to yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO I WROTE THIS LIKE TWO YEARS AGO IN SEVENTH GRADE...AND I OPEN EVERNOTE NOW IN THE YEAR 2019 AND I SEE THIS AND I FREAK OUT  
the ending was rushed because i wanted to finish it now but i knew it wouldnt flow as smoothly with my old edgy style
> 
> the title is from makeinu ni encore wa iranai by yorushika. enjoy pls!

Only in the evening does the city paint itself colorful.

Shuichi has become quite used to leaving early in the morning, right when the skies are gray and dull, the sun disappearing completely, shrouded by dozens of silver clouds; early in the morning, when he wakes up to a cold bed with an equally freezing body, – he instantly panics every single time before noticing and getting caught up in watching the other boy’s chest heave and thinking, _he’s alive, he isn’t crushed to death, I'm here, he’s here, so is everyone else_ – unwrapping himself from the thin blankets they could only afford, then dressing himself, time ticking slowly by; article by article, clothing would get on his body – and every part of the latter, every muscle, curve, and bone would remind him of how fake he is, would remind him that all of himself was fabricated; he condemned Team Danganronpa to bits, but most of all… he condemned himself for volunteering for that project. Shuichi always looked at his significant other just before leaving, a bony, fragile silhouette curled up in a ball, dark violet locks strewn on the crisp white pillow like a halo of sorts – what an irony, he would’ve thought if he didn't know Kokichi better.

He left for the detective agency at eight in the morning; it was funny how people assumed he would resemble, or, God forbid, _be _a detective judging by his nation-widely famous, made-up self.That was at least ten hours ago, and now Saihara stands in the crowded, almost monochromatic (he thinks of Monokuma and frowns.) subway train – people are all the same, or so Shuichi thinks; he wished he could blend in. At eighteen, he could've been a normal teenager, he could’ve only enrolled in college; at eighteen, he could’ve been skipping class, or using dumb dating apps, or having fun with his friends, or–

"Excuse me, are you Saihara Shuichi?"

Beside him was a young woman with a fanatic-like grin – the detective could see she had a small keychain charm that slightly resembled Ouma; he shivers almost instinctively, throwing her an accusing glare she didn’t seem to notice. Shuichi wanted everyone, every single Danganronpa-obsessed teen know just what kind of a torture all of their favorite show is. Noticing that the girl had gotten quite some people’s attention, Saihara, in turn, adjusts his beanie and hides his mouth behind his scarf. He prepares to speak, trying his best to sound as different from his actual voice as he can.

"I'm sorry, Miss. You seem to have mistaken me for someone else."

The girl’s grin doesn’t go away immediately; at first, though, corners of her lips droop slightly, but then she simply proceeds to whisper something about knowing _just who he is_ and excuses herself for the time being. Shuichi feels sick – it has been over two years, he should be used to it by now, but, in all honesty, he felt way better outside if he stuck to Ouma. He doesn’t quite know why, but it must have been related to all of the 53th season of Danganronpa, Killing Semester, (the name is bitter on his tongue and in his thoughts, even.) participants after regaining their consciousness – frail and fragile, emotionally and mentally unstable on many levels, full of hate and distaste for everything but especially themselves… they were matched together, eight pairs overall, to help each other for as long as they could – he decided to pair with Ouma Kokichi, knowing he has mistreated him during the killing game; he tried making it all up to him, but suddenly, accidentally, almost, he found himself falling for him.

Such feelings have been recognized as requited for a year now, a full year, and tomorrow, the two of them were going to spend the whole day together. He has been waiting for that moment for a while now.Shuichi gets out of the subway as fast as he can when the train approaches his destination; he swears he can see a flash and hears a shutter sound behind him as he makes his way towards the exit, and he purses his lips – honestly, he should truly be used to it by now; fanatics were lurking all around. Thinking about himself being like that, no– knowing he was one of them made him even sicker. He loathed himself, but he didn’t want anyone else of his acquaintances to feel that way; considering the trauma was almost equal for all of them, Shuichi knew just how foolish that is. By the time he's thinking about it, he is already outside, surrounded by the skyscrapers and loud traffic again.

Thelandscape is beautiful, he thought; only in the evening does the city paint itself colorful, indeed. The usually dirty, black-and-white streets were lit up by neon lights; the sunset found its way and crept towards the tiny cracks in the clouds – Shuichi narrows his eyes when a ray of sunlight almost blinds him, and for a second he feels like he is smiling. He is surrounded by a crowd, he is one of the hundreds, no, thousands of people walking there right now, and the single thought of no one (on the streets, at least) searching for him and being invasive is already helping the usual knot in Saihara’s stomach untie. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice anything when he bumps into a blonde-haired woman.

"Augh… I-I apologiz,–" she rubs her head with her hand when something like recognition gleams in her eyes, and, suddenly, Shuichi realizes he knows her. "Shuichi-kun?"

"Kaede-san," he beams comfortably, greeting her; he notices the bags under her eyes have grown bigger and darker since he last saw her, but, then again, when was that? About two months ago, no less, "how have you been?" He knows the answer: awful. Her hair, now messier and somewhat longer, was tied up in a surprisingly neat ponytail (that was Rantaro's deed, he was sure about that), but instead of dressing nicely as she usually would, she donned an oversized gray hoodie – goodness’ sake, so she was stealing Amami’s clothes, huh? – with seemingly worn jeans and dirty sneakers; similarly to Shuichi, she wore a surgical mask to conceal the lower part of her face and was walking with a grocery shop bag in her hand, earbuds in her ears (Saihara could perfectly hear _Clair de Lune_ play over the busy crowd. It took himway more strength than it should’ve not to sob at the mere melody.)

That wasn't Akamatsu Kaede he used to know, he was sure of that. But was the Kaede he knew ever real, was she…?

"I... I’ve been good, thank you, Shuichi-kun…! Are you, by any chance, okay? Why were you alone?"

"I’m, uh. Good. It was work. How’s Amami-kun?"

"…Shuichi-kun. Something’s off."

He sputters. "Wha-what do you mean?"

"You’re not fine, of course. I know that technically none of us are… But please, trust us. Trust me. You still have my phone number, do you?"

She’s dead serious, he realizes. She is trying to help him, but… why? For what reason? Didn’t they split into pairs for mutual support? These questions are going to blow his head up at this point.

"Thank you, Kaede-san…" he stutters, looking away, "...I’m here for you,too."

Kaede’s smile is blinding, and that feels right.

///

"Kokichi-kun, I’m home!"

  
He slams the door shut accidentally, and he comes to their small household to the sight of a clean apartment with the aroma of cinnamon, coffee, and vanilla hanging heavily in the air. While Shuichi himself has managed to find a job as a detective, Ouma had to look for a part-time one - which is why he was working as a barista in a large coffee shop near their home. He would make some coffee for Saihara at times, knowing the taller boy’s love for the hot beverage, and after secretly bringing it home, he would turn the TV on just so the two of them could watch a dumb comedy show, or a painfully cheap horror/detective movie where they could point out and laugh over simple mistakes. (It was oh so difficult for every single one of them to try and watch television programs ever again, but Kokichi and Shuichi took their time.)

  
"Shuichi-chaaan! Welcome home!" 

  
Shuichi feels the air grasp and tug at his heart, but it's so right. Kokichi's embrace was all but heartwarming to the core.

  
"Let's call Kaede-san and Amami-kun up," Shuichi smiles, "if you'd like to go out."

  
The hopeful smiles on their faces told no lie to each other.


End file.
